A Man of Fractious Fury
by Brekah
Summary: Danarius is dead, Varania is spared, and Hawke has finally made it clear that she wishes to stay with the mage. Fenris should be feeling a myriad of things, yet he is stuck fast to the most destructive of his emotions.


There was no escaping it. The anger hadn't lessened, even though he should have been left with something more. Killing Danarius, sparing Varania, finally opening himself to Hawke—there should have been a range of emotions. Fenris knew as much, but all he felt was the anger, a burning sensation concentrated around his heart and lungs.

Varric made an overt gagging noise. "I can't believe we managed to find something that smells worse than Darktown."

Fenris shrugged his shoulders until his sword sat easier in its scabbard. He didn't answer the dwarf, didn't even look down at him. Instead he looked at the walls, the ground, the dark corridors. He kept his ears open whenever he thought he heard footsteps. He felt his fists clench and tried to relax them.

Varric continued mumbling, every now and then calling out to Hawke to underline his displeasure. "Wow, Hawke, look! A part of the ground that isn't made of shit!"

"Yes, Varric, you hate this, I get it. I'll buy you so many rounds you'll never see straight again, I promise." Hawke was barely looking over her shoulder anymore, instead scanning the ground in front of her and jumping at every exclamation the mage made. Every now and then the abomination would stoop and pick something up, mouth turned down in distaste. Hawke would look at him and laugh. She was in a good mood. They were all in a good mood, Fenris was disgusted to see. All sifting through refuse to keep the abomination happy.

"I don't get why we're doing this." Fenris had nearly refused to come down to the sewers when Aveline had asked him to go in her stead. He was close to refusing all work pertaining to Hawke. He'd paid her back a hundred fold with years of service. He had other jobs. He had a roof over his head. Now that Danarius was dead Fenris didn't need anything Hawke could offer.

Varric glanced up at Fenris."Because even you know that saving Blondie from being a big bad abomination is a good thing. Hey look there—Hawke! This one's in the shape of a heart! You want me to grab it? Oh—wait I was wrong. It's just shaped like more shit."

The mage said something and Hawke and Varric laughed. Fenris took a few steps back from Varric, leaving the three of them to clump together in their mirth.

Fenris ran his eyes along the walls of the sewers. Kirkwall's usual heat had used the tunnels to settle into a miasma of humidity and scent that Fenris could feel in his gut. So far as Fenris could tell this was little more than a tunnel system into which people periodically threw their waste. It seemed to fit the theme of his life: he always had to slog through the filthy habits of others. A trickle of sweat ran down his spine and he shrugged his shoulders again, swearing as his marks burned.

Hawke looked back at him, her face slipping into that mask of confused pity that Fenris had come to hate over the past few days. They were friends, she had told him, friends who stood with each other. Fenris couldn't take that for false—she had stood with Fenris against Danarius, stood with him through Varania's treachery, stood with him through the resulting fear that his life now held no meaning. She had sat with him all night after he had killed Danarius, even as Fenris clarified his former master's use of him, elucidating all the reasons why Fenris had felt trapped and panicked in Hawke's bedroom all those years before. Hawke did not slip away from Fenris, never condemned him, and when he had finally banished his fears and told her he loved her Fenris expected nothing less than for her to stay by his side.

But now Fenris was here helping Hawke sift through actual shit to ostensibly save the life of the creature she was in love with. Fenris felt the anger rising in him again, the indignant burning that seemed to originate in his stomach and ooze into his chest. She dared to call him friend? She dared to _pity_ him? He fixed her with a glare that made his eyes sting, pushing his disgust and contempt forward. Her eyes widened as she looked away and he felt a confusion of success and despair. He wanted to call out to her and apologize; he wanted to run his sword through her mage lover just to watch her hurt.

"_Don't let Danarius's death fool you, Fenris. Just because he's dead doesn't mean that the anger is gone. You need to forgive. You need to look to the Chantry for guidance."_ Fenris took a deep breath and repeated Sebastian's words to himself. They were words spoken from experience, if not practicality. He tried to breathe the anger out but it was stuck inside of him, pressing against the inner walls of his body. Danarius was five days dead. His blood had run down Fenris's arm, his screams had filled the Hanged Man. Danarius no longer existed but Fenris could still feel him, could still see him, hear him, and worse—so much worse than the things he had dared to tell Hawke, to _only_ tell Hawke, and why? So she could pity him? So she could continue to turn him away, even after knowing his sharpest secrets?

There was an exclamation and a bout of flame from ahead. Fenris's world turned blue as he grasped his sword. He snapped to the front of the fight and felt himself burst through the resistance of a spider, its innards coating him as he turned and brought his sword through the part of the creature that was still moving. He took this momentum to the next spider, launching himself up in a leap to come crashing down with his weight on his sword. The creature all but exploded at the impact, and Fenris slid backwards on his feet to parry the grasp of a third creature. Something hit his side and the burning of his marks intensified; he looked down at green poison before dodging around the third spider's redoubled attack. The spider went up in flames just as there was another splash of poison along Fenris's side, leaving him to cry out at the burning wash of pain. Something cool and soothing moved over his skin and Fenris took the opportunity to draw himself up and direct his focus. Once again his world went blue, and as he ran he could all but see crossbow bolts moving with him, hammering into the spitting spider seconds before Fenris burst through it. The creature twitched and collapsed, falling apart at Fenris's feet.

_My cunning little scythe_, Danarius would say.

_My sweet little pet. _

_My little wolf._

Fenris bellowed and kicked the spider's corpse. He looked down at his hands, wishing that Tevinter blood was still caked to his gauntlets to remind him of the magister's death.

"Shit, Fenris, you okay?"

Fenris whipped his sword to the side to clear it of the mess, splattering ichor on the wall next to him and causing Varric to hop out of the way with a burst of invective. The abomination stared at Fenris through narrowed eyes, and Fenris regretted not spattering the white feathers with gore.

"Let's keep moving." This from Hawke. Her eyes slipped over Fenris without settling. There was anger there, Fenris saw. Rage, even. This made him feel better. He hoped to see it later, to shout her down over some rash accusation. To break the rest of what was left.

Fenris eyed his sword for filth and sheathed it. The abomination hurried after Hawke and Varric came up to Fenris's side.

"Fenris—"

"Do not talk to me." Fenris spotted a shining clump of minerals growing in the pattern the abomination had specified. He did not point them out.

"Try as you like, you won't get rid of me that easily. Here—slow down, will you?"

Fenris sighed and slowed. Up ahead the mage motioned that they had collected enough and pointed towards the exit tunnel.

Varric waved a hand and came to a stop. "Tell me what's bothering you."

"I told you not to talk to me, yet you are. This bothers me greatly."

"Hah! Is that a joke?"

"I'm far from joking, dwarf."

Varric wiped a splash of muck from Bianca before collapsing the crossbow and returning it to his back. "Look, I know you've had a lot on your plate. I get—"

Again his fingers tightened, the sharp points of his gauntlets biting into his palms. "You know nothing about me, dwarf. You presume. Nothing more."

"Andraste's ass, if it isn't hard to be friends with you." Varric took a deep breath, crinkling his nose at the smell. "Look, keep your mouth shut for a second and listen to me. Not everyone is going to run off just because you bark at them, alright? I get that you're angry. I get that revenge feels cold. I get that the woman you love is stuck on someone else." Varric held up a hand as Fenris opened his mouth. "Shut up. Maybe consider for a moment that you have people who give a damn about you. Me, Isabela, Donnic, even Hawke—no, I'm serious, close your mouth before Bianca does it for you. Hawke's an idiot, alright? She crashes around people's feelings like a burning bronto. It doesn't mean she doesn't care."

Fenris shook his head and began walking. The anger was growing, pressing against the inside of his skull. He let it slip into his voice. "How lucky you must feel to be so close to her. What a blessing it must be."

"Damn right." Varric jogged in front of Fenris and stopped, causing Fenris to stumble back lest he crash into the dwarf. "Hawke is—she's something special, alright? Even if she's not the most careful with others she's got a sense of loyalty that is rare to find. There's no replacing a friend like her—and there's definitely no replacing a friend like me. So if something is bothering you, you'd do best to talk about it with one of us. And I know something is bothering you, something more than your usual 'why doesn't this girl like me' broodiness."

"You've no reason to think there's anything wrong with me."

Varric gave him a worried look. "I've plenty of reason, elf."

It hit him then. He was doomed to this never ending conversation of whether he was _alright. _With Danarius gone there was nothing else to discuss, just an endless future of upending everything awful in his past, constantly highlighting every flaw in his life and ever searching for the memories he wanted but couldn't get. His own mind would be turned inside out for others to pity and talk about; he would never get away from it, even if he could let the anger go. He would never be rid of Danarius; he would never be anything more than an object of fascination.

The fury made it hard to see. Fenris pushed Varric to the side harder than either expected, leaving the dwarf to spiral his arms to catch his balance. Fenris took off after Hawke and the mage, stretching his legs until the muscles burned, markings screaming as his sweat-dampened armor chafed against them. He stopped when he saw Hawke and the mage arguing within the clinic. He stared at them; what could he say to end it all, to leave her shattered and searching?

The mage was shaking his head as Fenris approached. "I lied. There is no potion. But what we have gathered will bring freedom to more than just me and Justice. It will help mages throughout Thedas. In the face of that, one lie means little."

Fenris darted forward. It took every ounce of restraint not to grab the mage by his feathers. "What? What lie?"

Hawke held up a hand; the other was pinching the bridge of her nose. Fenris had seen her do that often enough with Carver when at her wit's end. "I can't act blindly. Tell me your plan."

The mage's eyes flicked from Fenris back to Hawke. "I am taking a risk. I will not see you drawn into it." The mage crossed his arms. "But maybe your support of mages ends at talk. It's easier to support freedom if no one must die to achieve it." Fenris made a noise of disgust; the mage ignored it and took a step towards Hawke. "You cannot claim to love me and then turn on me now."

Varric ran up, a very particular gleam to his eye. He pointed at Fenris but Fenris jerked his head towards the couple, stopping the dwarf in his tracks. Hawke stepped closer to the mage, her back shutting Fenris and Varric from the conversation.

"I care for you. That doesn't mean I agree with every decision."

The mage shook his head. "You cannot care for me and despise what I stand for. I _am_ the the cause for mages. There is nothing else inside me. Will you aid us now or does your support end at the Chantry door?"

Hawke barked a laugh, a sound that marked some of the harshest things she knew to say. "It's blackmail, then? If I don't help you then I can't possibly love you—is that truly what you think?"

The mage shook his head. "You have to trust me, love." He took Hawke's hands. "Please. Trust me in this."

For a moment Fenris thought the mage had her, drawing her in with his honeyed words as he'd been doing for years. The moment passed. Hawke pulled her hands free. "All the work you do—the long nights fighting templars, stopping demons and sneaking mages from the Gallows. All the things you keep from me because you do not trust me with your information—it's been leading to this, hasn't it?" She stood straighter, becoming more the Champion than Hawke. "I do not place trust in those that do not return it. This is over. You are on your own. In all things."

She turned and walked past them, eyes alight with hurt and fury. Varric swore and took off after her; Fenris tried to move, but felt rooted in place.

Fenris looked back to the mage. The abomination was stuck in gaping stupefaction. He stood with his hands limp at his sides, shoulders sinking, eyes locked on Hawke's retreating back. He made a small noise of protest and his eyes filled with tears. He drew in a sharp breath and pressed a hand to his chest. "I didn't want..."

It was only then he looked at Fenris. There was no animosity in the look, no mockery, no challenge. Just open confusion.

Fenris relaxed into a slouch and raised an eyebrow. "Guess you need to find a new place to live."

And then he smiled.

He couldn't stop smiling, even as the mage shouted something after him, even after he climbed the endless stairs and streets up to Hightown, even after he told Sebastian that the mage was planning something against the Chantry. He even laughed once or twice to himself throughout the rest of the day, though there was no one to share his humor.

That night when Fenris sat alone in his room and battled his memories he found himself grinning like a fool. The anger was smaller and less fractious, falling away easily to the twisting effects of the wine. Fenris closed his eyes and felt the raw and ripping eruption of Danarius's throat; he saw the wide, tear filled eyes of the healer. His smile grew.

The Chantry's guidance was all well and good, Fenris toasted to the fire, but there was no balm for the soul quite like the suffering of wicked men.


End file.
